


You Long For What Chokes You

by AreYouReady



Category: LE CARRE John - Works, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - John Le Carré
Genre: Ambiguity, F/M, also bill haydon is a garbage man, ann reflects on things, as befits a le carre fanwork, but also the honorable schoolboy can eat my ass, but she's upset anyway, essentially george's uhhhh Thing about karla fucks up their marriage, even worse than it already was that is, it can eat my ass, like as a book, she's upset over stuff that she knows she has no right to be upset over, technically this fic references events from the honorable schoolboy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12787239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AreYouReady/pseuds/AreYouReady
Summary: Ann may be known for her affairs. But George, too, in his own way, strays.





	You Long For What Chokes You

**Author's Note:**

> If Mr. David Cornwell Did Not Want Me To Write Cursed Fanfiction He Should Not Have Written Cursed Books.

When Ann first hears the name _Karla_ , there is a part of her that is jealous, but it is embarrassingly small. Another, much larger, part of her - a part that she is deeply ashamed of, but refuses to ignore - is pleased. Pleased that her burden of guilt is finally somewhat alleviated by an equivalent sin.

Pleased that her husband calls out the name of another woman while he sleeps.

She strokes his thinning hair, lightly enough that it won’t wake him, and rolls over, facing away from him again. She has always found it suffocating to face another person - any person - while attempting to sleep. And she is already suffocating. She needs to be free. Perhaps this time it will not hurt either of them so badly.

-

Three years and two lovers later, she asks Bill about it over tea. He’s cracking jokes about how George is the only faithful man in the Circus, what a pair you are, dearest Ann. Bill’s humor is, as always, in bad taste.

“I think he has a mistress,” Ann says, and even she is surprised how light her voice is. Sometimes she tries to pretend that she and George are a real married couple. It seems today is not a day for that.

“Oh? Do tell,” Bill responds, leaning forward as though this is simply a piece of ordinary gossip. Truly not a day for pretenses, then. Bill’s eyebrows are threatening to disappear beneath his soon-to-be-cut forelock. “I always imagined that when George finally realised that no one was enquiring after his chastity, he would be a _bit_ more discreet about it. Letting you know first, of _all_ people.” Bill _tsks,_ overacting the disapproving auntie.

“He hasn’t let me know anything,” she says, unexpectedly defensive, “all I have is a name he says in his sleep, mostly. He once said it when we were making love, as well.” She remembers that night with vivid clarity. George had been distracted all day, seeming angry with something or someone outside of her purview, beyond her small frame of reference. When the night had come, he had touched her with none of his characteristic shyness, but instead a distractedly brusque efficiency which she had to admit she’d enjoyed. He had moved his lips, as though speaking to ghosts, several times during the proceedings, and once, while he was inside of her, he had whispered the name _Karla_ so softly that she felt as though she were intruding, hearing it. As though she was the other woman, and not whoever was on George’s mind.

“And who is the unlucky lady?” Ann frowns at him. She does not like to hear her George insulted, certainly not in matters of love. He is, after all, her husband.

“Her name is Karla,” Ann begins, and is unable to continue, because Bill bursts out laughing.

“My dear cousin, Karla is not a _woman’s_ name.” There are still bubbles of laughter in Bill’s throat, Ann can hear them in the quavers of his voice.

“Then why does my husband-”

Bill cuts her off again, with another bark of humor. She scowls at him. “Clearly you know about this ‘Karla,’ Bill. I think I have a right to know what you do.”

“Dearest Ann,” he begins, and she makes a face at his condescending tone, but says nothing, “Karla is the work name of George’s opposite number at Centre.”

Ann’s breath catches in her throat. She stops listening as Bill lists off known facts about this unknown foe. George has brought his work into their bed. Has cried out for an enemy while he was on top of her.

She cannot name the sin he has committed against her. Perhaps it is simply that she is no longer forgiven her trespasses. Perhaps it is that he rates her so little that he is more interested in some Soviet nemesis. Or perhaps… perhaps it’s that he has the gall to be unfaithful in a way that doesn’t even make him happy.

-

She wonders, sometimes, if it was that conversation that pushed her to say yes, when Bill made his awfully transgressive suggestion, years later. Whether it was Karla that made her kiss him, straddle his lap, touch him with such urgency that they nearly had each other right there on her antique dining room table.

Bill loves her breasts, and he plays with one absently, as they lie in her (her and George’s) bed, letting the cool night air clean the sweat from their skin. It feels nice to be appreciated. George barely touches her chest. She taught him how to put his fingers inside her, and his tongue as well, when they were first married, but she never asked him to attend to her breasts, and as a result, he never has. Bill ghosts a finger across her nipple.

“You know I don’t understand it,” Bill breathes, as though he has read her mind, “why doesn’t George want the most beautiful woman in the world?” he strokes a finger along her labia, through his own mess.

“I never said he didn’t want me,” Ann protests, but it is, at best, half hearted.

“Perhaps dear George’s temperament is too... _poetic_ ,” Bill smirks. Ann hates him for smirking.

“It’s that Karla,” Ann responds, turning away from him.

“Maybe it’s both,” Bill nearly giggles. “Poor George, locked in fruitless passion for his sworn enemy…”

“Tell me about him.” She cuts off Bill’s laughter.

“Who, George?” Bill is still grinning.

“Karla.”

-

A year and a half later she finds out that George was not the only man to think of Karla when he touched her. Had Bill a grave, she would spit on it. The coldness she sensed in Bill… it was the same coldness as George showed her on those distracted nights. Still shows her, now that they live together again. She hopes they won’t for long.

She flings accusations at him. She tells him that he chases Karla like a child pulling pigtails, that his vengeance quest is more a romance than their marriage. George goes quiet, shuts down. He does this, very occasionally. But never because of her, and she is afraid.

The next day he begins moving his things into his office in the Circus. At least she doesn’t have to leave, this time.

**Author's Note:**

> This owes a lot to PegasusWrites, both because they beta'd it and because my characterization of Ann is heavily influenced by their unpublished fic that they let me read.


End file.
